


The Day That James Quit

by Anne-Li (Anneli)



Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:28:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24896935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anneli/pseuds/Anne-Li
Summary: What would happen to the Eroica gang if James quits? And why would he ever do so?
Comments: 10
Kudos: 10
Collections: From Eroica With Love - Groups Challenges





	The Day That James Quit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CassieIngaben](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassieIngaben/gifts).



> Thank you, Cassie Ingaben, Heather Sparrows and TelWoman, my lovely betas!
> 
> For the James challenge. If you like From Eroica With Love, feel invited to join us at https://eroicaml.groups.io

Day 1

There are lots of lovely ways of waking up on a beautiful Sunday morning - such as in the strong, masculine arms of your lover - provided that you like men, of course. Or at least slowly waking up from a cosy dream with lingering dream-memories of having slept wrapped firmly in those strong, masculine arms of said lover. A strong and masculine would-be lover who might in reality rather - much, much rather, actually - run a marathon than burn off calories making love to you and cuddle up with you afterwards.

Or, perhaps not quite as nice, but still lovely: waking up thoroughly rested after a long night's deep, invigorating slumber, alert and ready for a new, productive day - already anticipating maybe visiting some interesting museum or stealing some charming painting - maybe both in one go, to save some time. Or just lingering in bed until brunch, daydreaming of ways to persuade said not-quite-lover-yet-but-still-strong-and-masculine that making love really would be a much, much more efficient way of burning calories - why, you could make love several times in the time it took to run a measly marathon. Surely that should be convincing? 

And then there were less lovely ways of waking up. For instance naked on a cold rock, hand-cuffed and with a crowd of people laughing at you.

Or. Even worse.

Like to the sound of "Waaaaaaaah, waaaaaah, waaaaaah! Money is missing! Someone is stealing from us! We'll all go broke and starve to death and die! Waaaaaaaah, waaaaaaah, waaaaaaaah!"

Dorian squeezed his eyes tightly shut and pressed a generous helping of hair over his ears, burrowing deep into the silk pillow.

Surely he would be able to drift back to that lovely dreamscape where he had vague memories of using very persuasive arguments to win Klaus over to the merits of love making over marathon running. Sure, the good major might still have held him at Magnum point, but Klaus had looked slightly less sceptical, Dorian was positive of that.

"Waaaaaaah, waaaaaah! There are several pounds missing! Waaaaah, waaaaaaah!"

No luck.

James' voice penetrated everything. Effortlessly. Just as if James had been standing right by Dorian's bedside, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"My numbers will never add up now! Waaaaaah! My Looooord, you must dooooo something!"

Dorian cracked an eye open.

Oh.

Wonderful.

James was standing right by Dorian's bedside and just drew another deep breath. "My looooo--"

//No. Just ... no.// This was the third time this month and it was only the ninth.

Dorian rolled over and sat up. "James!" he snapped. "No! For Michelangelo's sake, be quiet!"

"But, my looooo--"

Dorian pushed the silky blanket out of his way and stood to his full height, wearing only the underwear James had gifted him with for his birthday a few weeks ago. They were moss green with scarlet Eroica roses - and very generous in the crotch.

"James! I've had it! I need my sleep! I'm sick and tired of you waking me every other day for absolutely nothing but your incessant obsession with a few measly pennies!"

James actually took a step backwards. "It's not nothing, my lord! Someone is swindling us! It's six entire pounds and forty pennies! I have--"

"Oh for Da Vinci's sake! A few pounds here and there won't kill us. I've had it! Out! Out, out, out! Get out of my face, my room and my castle! I need to get some peace and quiet! I need to sleep! Get out!"

James' mouth snapped shut. His single eye grew so wide that it looked monstrous. His mouth opened again. His lips moved. No sound came out. Then he moaned. "You can't fire me, my lord! You can't! You caaaaaaaan't," and then he whirled around and rushed off so fast that he nearly left a poof of air in his wake. "Waaaaaaaah! I quit!"

Dorian blinked.

What ... had just happened?

He hadn't really meant to imply that he was firing James. Not at all. He had just ... wanted the little nuisance of an accountant out of his way for a while. Not to be woken up over a few missing pounds. He wanted to get some quality major-dream-time. Strong, masculine arms and all that. Nothing more.

For a moment, Dorian felt absolutely terrible. No one had ever quit on him before! People loved working for him. Was he a bad employer?

Then he pulled himself together. 

"At least I will have some peace and quiet!" he shouted, not knowing if James could still hear him. Then he settled back into bed, pulled the blanket over himself again and closed his eyes firmly. "He doesn't mean to quit anyhow," he told himself soothingly. "I'm not a bad employer. James will be back within the hour. Some error on some bill, no doubt. He will wake me up again with his wailing. But ... I will try to be a little bit nicer to him then. Because I'm a good employer. Oh, if he only could stop screaming so much."

But Dorian found himself unable to go back to sleep. And James did not return.

***

James had rushed all the way through Castle Gloria with tears streaming down his cheeks. He went straight to his hideout cave in the basement. The little room had once been a storage cellar. It was lovely: murky and dank, and it still smelled like potatoes.

"I quit! I quit, I quit, I quit!" he shouted at the stone walls, where the moist rock swallowed each word like a hungry dog. The hot tears kept falling. "I only wanted to save us!" he wailed. "Waaaaaaaah!" 

Six pounds had gone missing and then forty lovely pennies! One, two, three, four, five six. And ten, twenty, thirty, forty. All of them. Ten lovely, innocent, sweet, sweet shiny coins, meant to fill out the fund to pay for tomorrow's delivery of the week's groceries. They would be short now! And his lordship hadn't even let James explain!

"Someone has been stealing from us!"

Which was horrible, terrible, unimaginable, unthinkable and more horrible!

But even more horrible, terrible, unimaginable, unthinkable and most horrible - Lord Gloria had thrown him out! Told him to go! Had been about to sack him! Him! James! Who loved Lord Gloria the most and who worked so very, very hard!

It was unfair!

Hah, but James had quit instead! He couldn't have borne to hear Lord Gloria actually saying the horrible words and being so utterly mean to him!

Enough! He would take Lord Gloria's behavior no more!

He, James, would go out to see the world!

With determined movements James piled his essentials on his blanket, folded the patchwork and tied the cloth neatly to his vacation stick - the best and gnarliest of his walking sticks, the one he only used when he was going on vacation. Then he blew out his candle, stepped out of the room, locked the door, slipped out the back entrance and started the slow journey towards London. On foot.

***

That day Castle Gloria was oddly quiet.

For several hours Dorian fully expected James to pop up again, like the jack-in-the-box the accountant so often resembled. But no. 

In the afternoon Dorian confided in Bonham what had happened. Not the full story, perhaps, and maybe he had been a tad bit overly dramatic in his illustration of James wailing, but Bonham had ensured him that he was, indeed, a very good employer, so Dorian felt better after that.

Bonham - with Dorian's permission - told the rest of the crew and there was much rejoicing. Finally, they would be able to party! They would be able to spend money without intervention! They would live a life of luxury! 

The chef, Mr Carlton, was ordered to bring out a feast and to spare no expenses.

Happy days were here again!

***

After a while, James didn't cry any longer. There was too much to see and do.

He stopped here and there on his way. Time might be money, but he wasn't in a hurry. Money could be made in time, too, so sometimes you had to spend time to save money.

In one village he sat outside a supermarket, begging for money - and received four pounds worth. He even cried a bit more, just then, and that really helped with the begging.

A bit further down the road he raided the area behind another supermarket and in a skip he found bananas that were not at all rotten, merely rather black, and he had himself a lovely meal.

About an hour later, he stopped in a forest and picked nuts and berries.

As the sun started to set he passed another village and one of the houses had a birdfeeder visible from the street. As all the windows were dark in the house he snuck up and found himself some really nummie sunflower seeds - and also a hose where he turned on the water and drank his fill.

When night fell and the stars came up he bedded down on a pile of leaves with his patched blanket over him, clutching his vacation stick. The air was still warm enough that it was just the right level of cold for him to feel properly miserable, but not so cold that he would get sick.

Happy days were here again!

***

Day 2.

The Eroica gang had been up rather late, partying. Still, Dorian had intended to get up early the next day. He wanted to get a start on something new, something fresh. A heist, probably. Something big. Somewhere he had never stolen before. Maybe he would do the old spin-the-globe and see where his finger landed. Surely, wherever he might end up would have something worth stealing - the heart of some handsome local lad, if nothing else? If Dorian was especially lucky, perhaps he would even manage to land a finger on Bonn ...He always kept his finger on the upper part of the globe at approximately the right height, for just that possibility. Sometimes he slowed the globe with his other hand when his finger was getting closer.

Instead, he slept like a log until a quarter past eleven and woke with a faint, insistent headache from having overslept. There had been no dreams either, as far as he remembered, not even a tiny glimpse of strong, masculine arms.

Waking up that late calls for only one thing: an opulent brunch. So Dorian phoned down his request to Mr Carlton, anticipating and envisioning hot scones with melting butter and some succulent cheese; some boiled eggs or maybe a mushroom omelette; some bacon; tea of course; maybe some yoghurt with fresh fruit and brown sugar; and a bit of this and a bit of that. He didn't specify exactly what he wanted, secure in the knowledge that Mr Carlton knew what his good employer favoured and that any surprise would be a nice surprise, carefully prepared and tasty.

What was delivered was not what he expected.

There was tea, of course. There was also one hard-boiled egg. In addition to the tea and the egg there was one piece of toast thinly spread with butter and a narrow slice of cheese; as well as a barely half full glass of apple juice. There was also some porridge, with a rather large dollop of lingonberry jam and a small amount of milk - "rose porridge" Mr Carlton called it, but it neither smelled nor tasted like roses.

"My apologies, milord," said Mr Carlton. "I'm afraid that your ... other employees already helped themselves to most of what was left in the kitchen larder after yesterday's ... extravaganza. I was busy with writing up a list for the grocery store or I would have stopped them. I'm afraid that today's meals will be somewhat sparse. We do get a delivery tomorrow, though. I do suggest that if you and your other employees plan a similar party, that I am to be notified in advance so that I can plan the kitchen stock accordingly. Mr James always notified me ahead of schedule to any planned indulgence."

Very annoying, naturally, and Dorian rather thought that Mr Carlton could very well have sent someone down to the village for a spot of emergency shopping, but by then he was very hungry, so he gallantly kept his tongue and did not complain. Of course, Dorian was a good employer who didn't nag on his employees needlessly, so there! He would pretend to be on a diet, slimming his already perfect body. Besides, there had been somewhat more eaten yesterday evening than his regular workout schedule allowed for, so it was only prudent to be a bit more restrained at this point.

After this so-called breakfast Dorian headed down to the meeting room, but when he spun the globe he kept landing in open waters or on America and after a while it just wasn't amusing any longer. He reviewed some of the targets they kept on the "maybe"-list, but nothing really caught his fancy.

He needed to cheer himself up, that was the problem.

"Bonham?" he said and his ever present, ever trusted second-in-command turned towards him, looking hopeful. "I think ... maybe a little spin down to Germany might be just the thing, what do you think?"

"If that's what you want ta do, milord." For some reason Bonham sounded a bit grim, but also determined. "Afternoon flight?"

"That sounds excellent. And book a room at the Maritim, as usual. Two nights, I think. Then a flight back up again the day after that."

Bonham nodded, his forehead wrinkled as if in deep thought. "Oi''ll try me best."

Dorian figured that Bonham was just worried that his employer might get hurt again. A lot of the Eroica crew did worry when he went a-courting to Bonn, he knew that. Realistically there was a 50-50 percent chance he would have to wear a veil on the flight home until some bruise faded. Major von dem Eberbach really wasn't an abusive man, he just tended to lash out a lot when cornered and Dorian so liked to corner him ...

With the schedule for the day fixed Dorian withdrew to his rooms and amused himself by considering just which of his outfits he would bring along to Bonn in order to catch the good Major's eyes. That was always a bit hit-or-miss, but the most important thing was, of course, that he was fabulous - and he never missed that particular mark.

After considerable deliberation, he selected the pale orange, buttersoft leather trousers that went so well with his knee-high, pale green boots. Add to that a nearly transparent white shirt with billowing arms and a plunging neckline; and a red satin strand with a pattern of diamonds around his neck and some golden bracelets and he would be good to go.

As the very good employer that he was, he did not demand that the servants pack for him, but did so himself. Then he settled in the luxurious leather armchair by the fireplace and opened his copy of Drawing in Early Renaissance Italy by Francis Ames-Lewis. The book wasn't the most impressive treaty on the subject, but it was interesting enough to while away his time until Bonham would get back to him. With a time schedule when Dorian was to leave the Castle to get to the airport in time - factoring in an unhurried stay at a nice restaurant on the way as well as when the plane was to take off and land, such things. Or so Dorian fully expected.

Finally Bonham did show up. He scraped his feet against the rich carpet, though, and wouldn't quite meet Dorian's eyes.

"Yes, Bonnie?" Dorian had decided to be a little more familiar with his employees, because - after all - he was a very good employer.

"Oi've hit a bit of a snag, oi ‘ave, milord."

"Oh?"

Bonham scratched his head, which he was wont to do when nervous. "Thing is, milord, Lufthansa won't book you a ticket fer t'day. Took me forever to get someone on th' phone, it did. Then they just said that it's much too late ta book now, late as ‘t is."

Dorian frowned. "But that's never been a problem before?" He was quite used to making such decisions on the fly and leaving whenever it suited him.

Bonham shrugged. "Oi kno', milord. Oi did mention who you are an' everything, but tha' didn't seem ter matter. But thing is, even if there'd been seats or what not, oi don't rightly know where th' credit card is. For payin', like. Oi've looked everywhere oi could think of. Even in th' safe and you know we don't keep nothing in there. Pretty pointless with all us thieves ‘round. An' oi couldn't find th' number for Maritim oither, milord. We must ‘ave th' number somewhere, like, but oi can't rightly find it. D' you know where James keeps th' receipts, milord? I figger the number should be on them."

"... no."

Bonham nodded. "Neither does anyone else, milord. Oi've drafted the others ter look round. He can't have taken all the papers with ‘im. Oi thought they'd be in th' cave he calls his room, but there wasn't a thin' in there. Oi figger he keeps them all stashed somewhere, secret like. Yer th' one that knows the castle best, milord. Secret passages an' rooms an' the likes. Can you have a looksie? We really need them papers an' cards."

Dorian pulled himself up straight. His employees had done their best, now it was time for the good employer to save the day. "Of course, my dearest Bonnie. Why, I know all the secret rooms. I'll find those silly papers and cards in two shakes of a lamb's tail, as they say."

Except he didn't find anything either.

There was pasta soup for dinner. With buttered biscuits. And water.

***

In the early afternoon, James reached central London. He had taken his time getting there, as he sometimes paused to beg for money or steal food. A light rainfall welcomed him to the big city, but that merely felt refreshing. While he did miss Lord Gloria and the others, and his little room that was so perfectly tight and dank, London was one of his favorite places on earth, with its throng of people and bustle of commerce.

As he always did when he visited he started out on Piccadilly Circus, where he begged for money. Then he took Regent Street up to Oxford Circus, stopping at several stores on the way where they let him try some novelty teas and candies. From Oxford Circus he followed Oxford Street east, begging for left-overs at a little hole in the wall where he knew that the owner had a soft spot for vagrants. When he reached Tottenham Court he turned south again, marching down Charing Cross Road until a few crossroads took him east to Covent Garden. Partly because there were also plenty of places there that offered small samples, but because he liked to visit James Street. Things with his name on them made him smile, though best of all was of course if he actually owned them. Then west again, through Leicester Square and through ChinaTown - always a good place to find thrown away objects, both edible and not so edible - until he reached Piccadilly Circus again. This time he continued west, feasting his eyes on St James's, St James Street, Little St James Street, St James Hotel, St James's Palace and so on and so forth. A brief stop was made at F&M, where posh though it was - they had delicious samples to be nibbled at. Thus fortified he happily trod half an hour down Piccadilly, past Green Park, past Hyde Park, into Knightsbridge where he finally reached his destination, the best place in town to taste exotic fruits and cheeses - Harrods.

What a glorious, bountiful day! 

With his belly full and with a happy heart James snuck into the underground at Knightsbridge, where he sang sad love songs until people had given him six whole shining pounds. When he got tired he retreated to a secluded area of Green Park. He slept under some bushes that night and he was very, very happy.

***

Day 3.

Dorian slept badly that night. He didn't dream of being ravished by green-eyed Germans with strong, masculine arms at all. He didn't even dream his second favorite dream of breaking into some private collector's vault only to find an unknown da Vinci. He didn't even dream of being crowned The Most Beautiful, Classy Man In The World, complete with sash and tiara. That night Lord Gloria dreamed of food. The perfectly done steak, wrapped in bacon, with a generous helping of crispy fries with a large enough dollop of bearnaise that not even a full day's workout at the gym would catch up on those calories. Not a vegetable in sight, but wine and pudding of a three layered dark, light and white death-by-chocolate cake! Pears cooked in brandy and served with the smoothest Hägen-Dasz ice cream! A perfectly made croque monsieur! Oh!

He did wake up early, but this did not mean that his breakfast was particularly better than yesterday's efforts. Breakfast consisted of tea and a cheese sandwich. At least the tea was Earl Red, which would normally have amused him, but the sandwich merely teased his appetite, so afterwards he almost felt hungrier than before. Mr Carlton assured him that the delivery from the grocery store would take place in plenty of time for a regular lunch to be prepared, so at least things would soon return to normal. He could have kissed Mr Carlton, but there were limits even for Very Good Employers.

Around ten Dorian found a small box of luxury chocolate left by one of his admirers. He ate all eight pieces, one after another. Afterwards he felt nauseous.

At a quarter to eleven Mr Carlton called up and politely asked Dorian to join him in the kitchen. Dorian, anticipating that lunch might already be on its way and that he would get to eat his proper fill before the others, as befitted the master of the house (and a very good employer), rushed down. Sadly no strong aroma of bacon grease or boiling beans or frying sausages met him, nor was there any real activity going on in the kitchen, not even the brewing of coffee. All was quiet. By the servants' entrance Mr Carlton waited with a rather heavy-set, ruddy man with thinning hair and what could politely be called a Rembrandt nose. 

"Lord Gloria," the man said with a polite nod.

"How do you do," Dorian replied. The man did look faintly familiar, though Dorian had no idea where he could have seen such a man before. If, again, he didn't merely resemble one of Rembrandt's works, and sadly not one Dorian would be particularly interested in. But good employers shouldn't appear rude in front of their employees, especially not if the man happened to be the grocery delivery man, as Dorian highly suspected. "Pleased to meet you, Mr--"

The man frowned. "Bradley," he said. "Josh Bradley. You remember. We went swimming together a few summers when we were teenagers."

A sudden chill froze Dorian to the bones. No. It couldn't be. The butcher's son! Josh Bradley! The handsome young lad who had been so, so ... handsome! Dorian did remember very well those ... swims. He remembered them all too well ...

//Keep your mask on, Dorian! Do not start to scream! Chin up! Answer him! Be polite!// "Arhgtlth."

"Sorry, Lord Gloria, what was that?"

With considerable effort Dorian forced his mouth to form actual words. "But why of course. How silly of me. I ... do remember our ... swims together. My, how time flies. And how, how ... delightful. To meet you. Again. Really. Ah, but to what do I owe the ... pleasure?"

"Delivery, milord," said Mr Carlton. "Mr Bradley is the manager of the village's supermarket. He is kind enough to bring us our deliveries in person this week."

//Chin up! Food! Bacon! Eggs! Steak! Pears! Ice cream! Chocolate!// "How delightful," Dorian said and the words were a great deal easier this time, as he truly meant them. "Thank you so very much for making the trip, we do appreciate your effort. But, Mr Carlton, why did you want me to come down? Is there anything I could ... do?" As a good employer, his employees could, of course, call on him at any time they needed his assistance. Especially regarding food.

Mr Carlton hemmed. "Master James normally handles the ... monetary aspects of these transactions, milord."

"Cash, Lord Gloria," said the formerly so handsome butcher's son cum grocery delivery man. "That James of yours, he insists on only paying us in cash."

"By all means," Dorian said grandly. Time for the good employer to save the day. "I'll go fetch my wallet. Ah, what sum do we owe you?" He wasn't quite sure how to phrase such things. At restaurants and cafés, they usually just handed you a nice little note with a sum and then you added a bit extra, depending on what country you were in and what level of service you'd been given - or how cute the waiter was, in some cases. In the clothes stores he frequented they never really spoke about such things as cost and payment, that was all understood that those aspects were dealt with discreetly and by someone else. Did you tip grocery deliverers?

A very large sum was mentioned by the formerly so handsome butcher's son who had been so very good at ... swimming

The sum was ... problematic. James usually just gave Dorian money one bill at a time - what denomination depending on what Dorian was going to do - and removed all remaining money at the end of the day.

"Ah,"Dorian said. "This is ... terribly embarrassing, but I just remembered that I forgot my wallet when I visited Mother in town two days ago. I ... was going to drive there earlier today and pick it up, but I utterly forgot. I'm ... so sorry. But how about if we pay tomorrow instead? I'm sure you know I'm good for it."

The formerly so handsome butcher's son shook his head. "That James of yours, he asked for credit once in the beginning. We're not sure how it happened, but the store ended up owing you money in the end rather than the other way around. So our policy is strict. No credit."

"Ah ..." But they needed food! "Just ... give me a moment and I'll see what I can rustle up." Dorian flashed his brightest smile during his retreat and, as soon as he was out of sight, rushed towards the lounge room, where Bonham and some of the others tended to gather for their daily dose of soap opera. "We need cash!" he cried. "Urgently. Is there anyone who has any actual money?"

Twenty three pounds later (six or so from Dorian's own wallet), the formerly oh so handsome butcher's son who had had such a marvellous ... backstroke, left Castle Gloria, leaving the castle dwellers with just enough groceries to stretch to omelettes and rice for dinner. And some bread and cheese - and tea, naturally - for breakfast. He expected the rest of the payment the following day in return for the remaining order.

Dorian sat up in his room. At the distance he saw the delivery van sweep down the road that led up to the castle. He shuddered.

The situation was getting dire.

That's when Mr Carlton entered his room, caught Dorian's attention with a light cough and reminded him that the staff also expected their wages the following day. And no, they wouldn't give credit for later either. They had also made that mistake, in the beginning.

***

Shirley Grover had only worked at the Thompson Bank for little over a week when her new best friend and co-worker, Mary Collins, stopped her on the way to the breakroom and, giggling, ushered her back towards the tellers. "You have to see," Mary whispered, her pretty blue eyes fairly shimmering with mirth. "It's our most special customer!"

That sounded intriguing. Shirley anticipated someone grand and noble - maybe even royalty! Or a movie star or a famous football player or something like that. Someone she would instantly recognize and swoon over. Thompson Bank was not one of the big banks, but the establishment had an excellent reputation for catering to their customers and giving that little extra that was required in some cases. She had already spotted several people she recognized from the telly and from the papers and she was eager to add to that list.

The man Mary indicated, however, was not a famous football player nor a movie star. Noble birth wasn't out of the question, though, as especially some of the European royal houses did show considerable signs of genetic decline. Either way, Shirley certainly saw, and instantly too, that the man was indeed very, very special.

His clothes were patched. Not just on elbows and knees, but more or less like a pattern from the hems of his trousers and up to his neck. His shoes had actual holes in them and he carried a stick over one shoulder with a little cloth bundle hanging from the other end. Also, he had brushed his black hair so that only one eye was visible. He was short and rather cute, in a way, but ... certainly very, very special.

Shirley couldn't help but to giggle. Mary giggled too.

"Who is he?" Shirley asked.

"That's Mister James," Mary whispered back. "No one knows his first name or what he does for a living, really, but he holds the Green Vault."

"Ooooh!"

Shirley had been told about the Special Vaults on her first day on the job, though she hadn't been inside one of them yet. Apart from the regular bank vault with the bank's money reserve and the value boxes kept there by some of their customers, the bank maintained four older vaults, for their most valued customers - the Blue Vault, the Red Vault, the Green Vault and the Yellow Vault.

"Not only that," Mary added. "He has access to the Red Vault as well, though it's not his, not really, he just, like, takes care of it, for some reason. The Green Vault is his, though. He visits about once a month or so and sometimes he even stays the night there, inside the vault, though you mustn't tell anyone, Mister Johnsen says that it's a fire hazard violation."

They watched the odd little man fairly skip past the tellers' area and to the elevator leading down to the special vaults.

"He must be terribly rich," Shirley said with a sigh. "Too bad he isn't, well, ah, you now ... less special. What do you think there is in the Green Vault?"

Mary shrugged. "Money I expect. Heaps and heaps of money."

She wasn't wrong.

That night, James slept on heaps and heaps of money, mostly coins. And he was very, very happy.

***

Day 4.

"Milord, oi've located yer bank. It's Thompson Bank in Knightsbridge, it is."

"Oh, Bonnie, I could kiss you!"

Bonham actually blushed at that, as he often did. "No need, milord. And that's not as good news as you might be thinking. Oi've been callin' every bank ‘n London until Thompson Bank recognized my description o' James. They admit that ‘e's a customer, but tha's all they were willing ter say ‘bout ‘im. If we don't have th' account numbers, they won't help us any."

"But surely the money must be in my name?"

There was, after all, only one Lord Gloria. Even just one Dorian Red and certainly only one Eroica! Either one of those names should be good enough, though perhaps not Eroica, considering the circumstances.

"Not at that bank, milord."

"Drat. Can we ... Can we ... break into the bank? I mean, if it's our money anyway? ... a bank robbery is so ... mundane, but ... could we? It can't be much more difficult than to break into a museum, surely? We could just not leave the card, do it incognito."

He would never live it down if Eroica got accused of bank robberies! Although ... he could always claim it was for one of Major von dem Eberbach's missions, he supposed.

Bonham grunted. "Oi would think we could manage th' security jus' fine, but you know th' start-up time fer a thoroughly planned job as well as oi do, milord. We'll all ‘ave died of starvation before then. Oh, oi nearly forgot, Mr Carlton said that the grocer called again, about that delivery? Said ter tell you tha' they'll only hold it fer one more day, like. An' Mr Carlton strongly intimated that if th' staff doesn't get paid tomorrow, they'll all go on like a holiday fer a week or two, they will."

One disaster after another!

"Oh, that's terrible." Dorian breathed in firmly through his nostrils, clearing his lungs, strengthening himself so that he would be able to make the dreaded decision. "Fear not, though, dear Bonnie. I know what we must do to get out of this ... quagmire." He met Bonham's questioning gaze steadily. "We must buckle up and sell one of the paintings. One of the nice ones."

Just to say the words hurt. Each and every one of those beautiful, beautiful paintings were his and his alone and they wanted to belong to him. But! Food! And payment to his employees. Because he was a good employer, damn it.

Bonham looked away. "Those were my thoughts exactly, milord. Great minds an' all that. And oi thought that oi'd, kind of like, speed things along a bit. Oi thought oi'd contact Mr Allbright, see if he'd have time to come on over. Get it done quick, like, like tearing off a band aid."

Mr Allbright was the fence used by the Eroica gang for those paintings deemed too mundane or modern for Dorian to want to keep, when they weren't ransomed back if their owner was deemed worthy. The fence was a tall, roguish man who was sadly very heterosexual and utterly besotted with his wife for the past ten years. Dorian had met her once, very sweet woman.

Dorian felt himself begin to calm down a bit. Mr Allbright was very reliable and a very prompt payer. There was never any hassle whatsoever with Mr Allbright, James himself had said so and that was high praise coming from the accountant. "Whatever would I do without you, my dear, dear Bonnie. Excellent work! Well, when can he come? We do have enough tea to serve him, don't we? And some cake or something, I don't care if I have to steal it myself, but something nice. We can't let Mr Allbright think that we are desperate. But we really need some cash."

Bonham coughed. "Oi'm afraid we've hit a bit of a snag there as well, milord. It's usually James who calls him, see? Oi've scoured every address book I could find, but I think James has all the phone numbers where he keeps all the other numbers. In ‘is head. And we have no other way to contact Mr Allbright."

The enormity of this reveal staggered Dorian. Not just the difficulty in reaching Mr Allbright, which was terrible enough, but the wider implications. "... all numbers, Bonnie?"

"Yes, milord. Oi'm afraid so."

Meaning that they had no way to contact ... anyone, really.

They were all alone.

***

In the posher part of London, merely a stone's throw from Harrods, the wealthier visitors can find food and lodging at Hotel Patches. The establishment isn't terribly big, but it is very exclusive. Hotel Patches had been launched four years previously as an adults only luxurious resort with every comfort readily available, compliments of the house. At an exorbitant price per night, of course, but once that minor detail had been handled, a visitor needn't concern himself with anything else. The name had spread in certain circles of old money - gauche newly rich and pop stars needn't trouble themselves. Hotel Patches was all but by invitation only and those who had stayed there once came back year after year.

Those in the know joked amongst themselves that it was the patches that hid the hotel from the rabble, who assumed that the patches were a sign of decline and age. Not so. True, there was hardly a single piece of cloth in the hotel that didn't have a patch - perfectly designed, of course, without a single blemish or garishness. The clientele appreciated the amusing gimmick. Never had patches looked so good!

The service was impeccable and each suite an elegant, understated den of luxury.

And then there was the Owner's Suite.

The area was always referred to as such and carefully maintained by selected staff, who all knew better than to spread that particular rumor around the city. They did value their jobs, after all.

All the other hotel suites faced away from the Owner's Suite. Which was probably for the better, as the Owner's Suite was a carefully abandoned lot in the backyard of the hotel, with a skip and masses of overgrown vegetation. A greasy stream bisected the area. There were bricks and car tires and some smashed bottles here and there, artfully arranged as if at random. While there wasn't a cleaning service per se, the kitchen did deliver food there, every evening the Owner was actually present. The last of the leftovers, sometimes cultivated for days to proper ripeness.

James was very happy there.

***

Day 5.

Panic swept through Castle Gloria when the Unthinkable happened.

They had run out of tea!

Dorian, out of frustration and overwhelmed desperation, entered the second master bedroom, the one decorated in military green and weapon grey, to liberate a canister of Nescafe previously stolen from Major von dem Eberbach's Bonn apartment. He nearly succumbed to eating the bits with a spoon, rather than actually drinking the bitter brew, but the buttered biscuits Mr Carlton served tasted marginally better.

With his belly aching for real food, Dorian took the ‘ghini to London, where he paid a surprise visit to his mother, right before lunch time. Despite his perfect timing, she only served him tea, which he was still grateful for. There was also an arrangement of F&M cookies, from which he swiped six, arranging the remaining selection as not to make his gluttony too apparent. He tried to hint that he would be willing to stay for dinner, but his mother was going out with some of her friends to the theater.

Foiled again, Dorian wandered the streets of London. Near Oxford Circus he passed by a pawn shop and stared for a long time at the door. Then he shrugged and entered. The shop was unlike anything he'd ever seen. For some reason he had expected something more like an antique shop, but the area was very small and clean, leading up to a teller much like at a very, very tiny bank. There were no things on display. The whole thing felt rather dreary and smelled of bleach. Still.

//A man must do what a man must do,// Dorian told himself firmly. //Chin up!//

At least there were no other people present but the red-haired man at the counter who stared at him rather blankly. Dorian wished that he had put on some disguise.

//If this gets out I'll have to change my name and move. Well, Klaus has a large castle, I'm sure he wouldn't mind. At least not if he doesn't find out for a while.//

He forced himself to walk up to the man at the counter, who was barely more attractive than the formerly so handsome butcher's son. With an elegant twist of his wrist Dorian unclasped his white gold bracelet, the one given to him by Volovolonte the last time they met. Volovolonte wouldn't mind. Especially not since he would never find out, but if he for some bizarre reason did find out, he wouldn't mind.

"How much can you lend me for this?" Dorian asked regally.

The red-haired man took the bracelet, studied it for a moment and then nodded. "Fifteen."

Excellent. Not as much as Dorian had hoped, but plenty enough for food and wages.

Or so Dorian thought, for one glorious minute.

The man hadn't meant 1500 pounds.

He had meant 15.

Fuming, Dorian left, swearing to himself that he would rob the pawn shop of every single object in its store, as soon as things settled down and Eroica was back in business.

Marching back towards where he had parked the ‘ghini, Dorian turned a corner sharply and bumped into a tall man with large glasses. They grabbed on to one another for a moment to keep their balance, then both apologised and continued on their way. A few steps later Dorian realized that he was holding the other man's wallet. Sadly, the content wasn't much to write home about, just over eleven pounds. Still ...

Two hours later, Dorian sat in the ‘ghini and went through his haul. Sixteen wallets, but a mere 129 pounds. What was the matter with people!? Did no one carry large amounts these days? Was there a depression going on?

He opened the car door enough to shuck the wallets under a nearby bush, then drove away.

On the way back to North Downs he had to refuel the ‘ghini. Then at the grocery store he bought as much as he could for the remaining amount. Returning home without money to pay the servants their wages he ended up bribing them with emeralds.

***

James was getting a tad restless.

He had looked in on all his assets and his wealth was accumulating quite nicely. A spot of begging here and there did brighten up his day. Finally, though, he grew bored and hitchhiked to Ramsgate, where he kept a tiny motorboat. Rather than to waste precious fuel he rowed the boat down the coast and over to James's Island, a very tiny island that he had purchased after he had made his first million pounds. 

The island wasn't very big at all, in truth it was just large enough for a little campsite, surrounded by a dense shrubbery that would deter most tourists. James knew the way through with just getting his clothes torn a little, little bit so that he could easily patch them. Patches were so nice!

James's Island was a sovereign state, a kingdom where no one ever had to pay any taxes (unless they wanted to pay them in homage to him, King James of James' Island, of course). James spat on the island every time he visited, to make sure that it was still properly his.

To visit his kingdom always put James in a good mood, though for once he felt a bit unsure as to what to do the next day. Set out to earn another million, perhaps? During Lord Gloria's latest trip James had struck up a business arrangement with a shrewd Arabic prince and James had all but decided to invest in sand. That would give him something interesting to do.

***

Day 6.

Dorian sat in bed, blanket pulled up to his chest, feeling miserable.

In the morning he had woken up with a brilliant idea.

He would take the Zeppelin to Germany!

They would all go, him and everyone else. They would pay a visit to Schloss Eberbach and then they would just ... stay there. Herr Hinkel always invited Dorian to stay for a meal whenever he came over and the food was acceptable. Mr Carlton would come as well, of course, and he would teach the Germans the proper ways of British food and then everything would be even better. He would simply tell Herr Hinkel that Klaus had told him that he could stay there while ... oh, while Castle Gloria was undergoing some renovation or some such thing. Everything would work out for the best.

Except when he had, joyfully, told Bonham of this simple, yet brilliant plan, Bonham had, as so often, had some irritatingly logical argument why this was not possible. Apparently to ready the Zeppelin for a trip took an enormous amount of money. All that helium and whatnot. So ... that was out.

"Milord! Oi've got good news!"

Dorian nearly dropped the cup with warm water he had used to warm his hands with. That was something else Bonham had found out: the electricity bill was due next week. In a desperate bid to lower it they had decided to only turn the heat on for an hour before going to bed. It had been either that or to all sleep in the same room, sharing body heat and radiators and Dorian needed his privacy. But never mind that now. Good news!

"That's wonderful, Bonnie. We all need some good news right now. What have you found? Has Volovolonte been in touch?"

The Rogues' gallery did usually check in on one another now and then. Of course, James had always insisted on letting the others call, to avoid telephone bills and now Dorian was beginning to think he understood why.

"Afraid not, milord. But oi ‘ad a thought, so oi went out into th' garden. There's apples, milord. Lots an' lots o' apple trees! Oi set some of the boys to pick the ripe ones."

"Apples!"

What wonderfully good news indeed!

***

James had spent most of his day back in London. He had called - collect, of course - his Arabic prince associate, who would have several tons of sand shipped in from the Saharas. There were almost an endless number of purposes the sand could be put to: garden paths, litter boxes, children's play areas, aquariums, bricks, exclusive peeling creams and so much more! He would make another fortune for sure!

In the afternoon, he had begged for money at King's Cross and that had also been fun.

Walking back towards the park where he intended to sleep the night he had seen some rats in a back alley and had tried to play the flute for them, so that they would come closer and let him pet them, but they ran away instead. That was okay, though, the city rats weren't tame rats. Not like back home, in Castle Gloria. James sighed. Back home in Castle Gloria the rats knew him. They were his friends and they would let him pet them and twirl their tails.

He missed his rat friends.

If only Lord Gloria hadn't yelled at him!

That had been unfair!

He had just wanted to get Lord Gloria to pay attention to him and to the missing money!

The missing money was important!

Six whole pounds, shining and glorious!

Who could have taken them? Who?! An intruder? A burglar? Or ... an infiltrator? One of their own! A traitor!

James had almost reached the park, when he noticed a treasure trove of wallets, barely hidden under a bush! He dove for them, hurriedly crawling under the bush to conceal them and himself while he quickly rifled through the contents. Alas, as he should have known. Someone had already taken all the money that might have been inside ... So sad. But! Several of the wallets were of good quality, altogether they had a worth of at least 60 pounds and one of them had a stamp card that was nearly full that would give him a free coffee if he bought one. That was the kind of purchase James could get behind!

How wonderful! Proof that some higher power out there loved him!

With a soaring heart and clutching his treasures James skipped towards the park.

For two whole skips.

Before he stopped to stare at the empty wallets.

Empty.

Wallets.

And the answer struck him like the late fee on a bill you never received.

Suddenly he knew where the missing money was!

It all made sense now!

And it was all his fault!

***

Day 7.

Yesterday Mr Carlton had served apple pie with the afternoon tea, which had actually been rather nice.

Then they had apple mash for dinner, served with hot dogs and radish (some wild radishes had grown by the apple trees). Not quite as nice. There had also been an attempt at fried apple, which hadn't gone very well. Then they had apples for pudding.

For breakfast there was tea - Dorian had made absolutely sure to stock up on considerable amounts of tea at the grocery store - and slices of apple turned in sugar and cinnamon. The slices still tasted mostly of apple.

Lunch had been apple salad. With the "salad" bit of the apple salad consisting of radish.

Afterwards, Dorian had, in pure desperation, grabbed his crossbow and headed out into the forest behind the castle. If he had to eat apples for one more meal, he would rather starve, except that he would rather eat apples than starve, so that was a bit of an impasse. Regardless, he was a man in need of greater sustenance and he knew how to get it.

Except for when the little bunny tilted its head adorably and looked at him with huge, black eyes, shimmering with sadness, practically screaming: "Murderer! You want to kill me and eat me! Murderer!"

Dorian returned to the castle, glad that he hadn't told anyone about his rabbit-hunting plans, and trudged back towards his rooms. That was when the doorbell rang.

Bonham popped out from the meeting room, heading to answer the door. As he passed he patted Dorian on the shoulder, but said nothing. Maybe he had guessed Dorian's plan anyway, from the crossbow.

"--aaaaah, aaaaah, aaaaah!"

Dorian whirled and ran towards the familiar wailing.

***

James saw Lord Gloria come at him with a crossbow. He promptly screamed for his life, whirled and started to rush away. Only to be stopped as Bonham grabbed his vacation stick and lifted it into the air, bringing James up with it.

"No you don't," he heard Bonham grumble. Then both stick and James were swung around in Lord Gloria's direction.

"Waaaaaah!" James had time to shout - 

before -

Lord Gloria - 

captured him -

in a fierce embrace!

"Oh James!" Lord Gloria wailed. "Oh, James! James! My trusted, wonderful James! We've all missed you so very, very much! All of us! Thank Caravaggio you're back! I'm a lousy employer, James! And I'm so, so sorry for all the mean things I said!"

"Waaaaaah?"

"Please stay with us, James! Never abandon us again! Stay with us forever!"

"Aaaaah ..."

And then James decided that it would be unwise at this point to beg his lordship's forgiveness for the stupid misunderstanding of the 6 pounds 40 that James had forgotten to retrieve from Lord Gloria's wallet and subsequently thought had been stolen and which had started all of this mess.

"Of course, milord! Your James is back again!"

THE END


End file.
